


trust is all we have

by vlossoms



Category: The Boyz (Korea Band)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Anxiety, Brief description of a panic attack, Caretaking, Depression, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, jacob centric, vague character descriptions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27120073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vlossoms/pseuds/vlossoms
Summary: his life right now is peeling wallpaper and smoke-stained curtains, tattered carpet and a too-small bed. his life is late rent payments, overtime at work with little compensation, no free time and too much caffeine. the stack of bills on the desk, of credit companies threatening to send his accounts to collections, of loan companies hoping he’s stupid enough to sign a check with a 73 percent interest rate- all of it serves to be just another reminder in a steadily growing list that he’s failing.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 34





	trust is all we have

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy do, lets take a break from copious amounts of pornography and dive deep into mick's depressing thoughts. This is literally me, my child, my feelings and thoughts wrapped into one little emotional breakdown piece, and as such, is VERY personal to me- so, if any of the ideas of this piece trigger you, or upset you, or anything else- keep your rude thoughts to yourself, and simply click off the work. 
> 
> I left this piece purposefully vague about who the other characters may be, it is entirely up to the reader to use their imagination and make the world their own in some way. But, if anyone wants what *I* imagined writing it, feel free to dm me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/sunrisecobi)
> 
> I DO NOT CONSENT TO MY WORKS BEING REPOSTED OR TAKEN. DO NOT REPOST MY WORKS.

there are some days when it feels like too much- when it feels like it’s all crumbling down, bricks and mortar from the internalized castle walls falling around you. jacob knows these days well, unfortunately, familiar in a sick, twisted way with the demented little ghosts sticking their wretched hands in his life. their clawed fingers grip tight and bruising onto his heart and mind, turning his stream of consciousness foul and bitter and nearly putrid in his own head. 

jacob finds himself falling into anything that will get him out of his head- whether it be hours of youtube content, reading, writing, failed attempts at art, anything really that will get him away from the lingering stench of misery and depression eating away at his core. his phone chimes distantly, has been for hours off and on and he _knows_ he’s distancing myself, knows his friends and family must be worried- but how can he turn to them for help when he can’t even explain the cruel whispers of disappointment to his own self? the ghosts of his past trauma and many mistakes are always waiting at any corner, the proverbial boogey-man causing his own personal hell on earth when anything so much as goes awry. 

sometimes jacob doesn’t do anything really- merely shuts down any process of his body that doesn’t involve blinking or breathing and drifts. it always makes him feel weightless, bobbing along in a semi-coherent ocean full of thoughts and regrets. the weight of the consequences of his actions can’t reach him in the dark recesses of his daydreaming- for everything is better in his make believe world. 

a rumble sounds, low and nearly angered, and it serves to remind jacob that he hasn't eaten anything in... well, he’s not even sure how long it’s been. he’s been floating for awhile it feels like- but time isn’t real when he loses himself in the make believe world, where _what ifs_ and _why’s_ don’t exist, where they wouldn’t matter even if they did. there’s a nagging voice pinging at his subconscious, his mother’s nasally voice picking at old wounds and threatening to rip the metaphorical band-aids off of his poorly patched up psyche. 

the phone on the desk is vibrating now, a never ending disturbance yet another reminder that escape is only temporary. when jacob manages to control his arms again, reaches for the shrilly ringing device, the screen cuts to black as soon as he tries to swipe his thumb at the screen. _oh well_ , he thinks, simply letting his hand fall back to his side, back in its rightful place picking at the loose threads on his jeans. 

if he thinks hard enough, focuses long enough, he can almost hear the resigned sigh, laced with disapproval and barely reigned in exasperation in his father’s voice, can practically see the man standing in front of him, lips turned into a perpetual scowl. jacob has grown to accept himself as the failure of the family, the photo of his brother and his wife and child framed on his desk an ever-present reminder that he’s not only a terrible child, he’s- well, he’s not even straight. he can’t even falsely reassure his parents that _“he just hasn’t met the right girl”_ or that _“someone will come along one day,”_ because- there’s never going to be a beautiful bride, a white picket fence and two kids. 

his life right now is peeling wallpaper and smoke-stained curtains, tattered carpet and a too-small bed. his life is late rent payments, overtime at work with little compensation, no free time and too much caffeine. the stack of bills on the desk, of credit companies threatening to send his accounts to collections, of loan companies hoping he’s stupid enough to sign a check with a 73 percent interest rate- all of it serves to be just another reminder in a steadily growing list that he’s failing. 

his phone is ringing again, but this time he can’t even bring himself to check it. his arms feel like lead in his lap, weighed down with the knowledge that he’s digging himself into a hole filled with shallow self pity and an over abundance of wallowing. jacob is truly content in some backwards, self punishing way, to sit in the dark, in the _silence_ and be a little pathetic- but it proves futile when there’s a gentle but insistent knocking on his door. 

he can hear whoever it is shifting anxiously, courtesy of the paper thin walls, can hear the muttered swears and worry clouding the other’s tone. and suddenly- jacob feels _guilty_. it hits him like a train, hard, fast and left completely unprepared for the inevitably survival of a fantasy train- that he’s truly been worrying his friends, the few people who care about him. 

it hits even harder when the voice picks up in volume, in desperation; when the knocks turn more incessant and less gentle, “jacob? cobie, open the door, bug, i need you to open the door.” 

he chews on his lip, knowing that the other could easily let himself in- knows he gave all of his close friends the passcode to get in, _just in case_ he had whispered, pressing little sticky notes in three waiting hands. three people- three life changing, entirely undeserved, loved unconditionally people. jacob feels it deep in his core that while he loves them, loves them so, _so much_ , that they deserve better than a wretch like him- especially when he’s fallen apart like this, a mere shell of the bright sunshine façade he wears. 

“cobie, bug, baby, _please_ ,” the voice pleads, a near beg in the intonation soaking pathetically through cheap wood. “i promised you if you could physically open this door, i wouldn’t come in, i don't want to break that now.” 

trust. the trust jacob has in these three beautiful angels among him- it’s insurmountable. he’s so damaged though, that he’s entirely terrified that he will ruin it all by being hyper critical of a simple mistake, or anything that breaches this unspoken line. knowing that the other person is so desperate for jacob to come to him, even just a little- it gets him to his feet before he can mentally process it, shuffling half zombified towards the creaky floorboard just behind the door that will surely symbolize his presence. 

the second his bare toes come in contact with that blasted board, he sigh of relief he hears feels almost palpable in the stale air. a sound so world-weary and heavy, so loaded with unspoken words that never needed to be said. the “ _i’m so glad you’re really okay_ ” goes unheard in extended silence when jacob finally manages to finagle the sticky door open. it’s been raining, the humidity swelling the wood and leaving him struggling with even the most mundane of tasks- shutting his door. 

jacob barely has time to think, to breathe, to process even- when arms twist around him in a vice like grip, fingers carding through his unruly hair and soft whispers let out between choked off sobs. it takes him a solid minute before he realizes the distant wailing noise he was hearing is him, that he’s the one gasping for air like a drowned man, choking and gagging on spit and tears. 

the arms curled around him only tighten that bit more, keep him curled protectively close as the chest his head is tucked against rumbles softly with the quiet melancholy of a song. jacob positively shrinks in the embrace, letting out all of the pent up misery and single-minded pain in desperate whimpers, the burning in his lungs signifying the ever looming threat of an anxiety attack lurking closer. the other notices quickly, attuned to jacob’s little -isms that make him who he is, large, soft hands cupping stained red and dampened cheeks, soft lips forming words jacob has to struggle to understand.

in the back of his mind, jacob wonders just at what point he let himself get this bad- at what point did he stop recognizing the signs of his own brutal self destruction. there’s nothing but tenderness and sunshine seeping into his brain as the voice filtering through the roaring blaze slowly douses the flames in his mind. he can breathe, he can think, he can- he can only curl in closer into the warm body, practically swallowing the other man in a desperate bid to get closer, to escape, to be free of his demons. 

the other person takes it all in stride, soothes him like a mother would her distressed child, calms him down until he’s left with a pitiful numbness seeping into his bones- it’s all he can feel, can’t even bring himself to frown when the arms encircling his waist move to hold him by the shoulders, firm and steady. 

“would you like a bath, cobie?” the voice whispers, eyes deep like melted chocolate searching for the answers of the universe in the lines across his forehead. jacob barely has the energy to nod, merely ragdolls as he’s carried into the bathroom and set gingerly on the closed toilet lid. he’s faintly aware of the rummaging, of the water turning on and the tub filling with water, an aromatic scent peaking his interest just barely. he’s startled through the fog in his brain at the feeling of hands lifting the hem of his shirt, wide and frantic eyes meeting the calming yet worried gaze of the other. 

“i didn’t mean to startle you,” a whisper in the tender void between them. “help me get you ready?” 

it’s phrased more like a question, something that which stomps down the bubbling anxiety faster than it appeared originally. the illusion of choice, as if jacob could feasibly get in the tub with all his clothes on, gives him something to focus on- something to think about that isn’t the swirling cavern in the pit of his stomach. 

“ _you don’t deserve this person,_ ” the voice snarls in his head and jacob can practically feel the spittle hitting him at the ferocity of the words. “ _you are pathetic, and it’s all for show_.” 

he physically shakes his head, trying to rid the thoughts away as the hands gently coax him out of the fabric, the soft noise following assuring him that his clothes landed in the wash bin. he’s unabashed in his own skin, his close circle of friends having cared for him so many times that his own nudity doesn’t phase either him nor the others at this point. it’s the emotional and mental vulnerability that does him in, that has him twitchy and uncoordinated as hands help lower him gently into the steamy water. 

the song continues, barely a whisper in his ears as the other person cares for him. jacob feels like a child as hands smooth over skin, the faint scent of body wash lingering in the space. but none of it feels patronizing, he feels safe, loved, protected- all good things as his mind floats once again to the gentle press of nails against his scalp as shampoo lathers generously. 

after he’s clean, the hands pull away, jacob letting out a distressed whine at the lack of comfort. there’s a quiet chuckle, fond and loving that echoes distantly, jacob falling into a headspace he’s not normally privy to experiencing on his own. 

the gentle care and comfort is enough to regress, enough to fall back into a time when jacob had it all- unconditional love from his parents, his brother, popularity at school- he was a spoiled child, pampered and well cared for. the fond memories of church songs, of sunday morning service spent with hands clasped between him and another boy near his age. he was happy, and that’s all the matters- he longs for the happier days of his childhood, before the church boy moved away and before everything crumpled down around him, caught in the mid afternoon sun with a boy on his lips. 

he’s lost in his nonverbal dreamland as hands shuffle him carefully from the tub, a soft towel wrapping around him and patting him dry. “little one?” the voice calls, testing the waters to see, to know- to confirm that what he’s picking up is true. 

jacob perks up at the endearment, soft eyes creasing in a wispy smile, echoed only in the toothy grin the other returns. “Are you hungry?” the other fills the role as his caretaker quickly, familiar and calm in his participation in jacob’s time of need. 

he ponders for a minute, rubbing aimlessly at the towel draped around him before shaking his head no, sheepish look on his face being overrun by a powerful yawn. “you’re tired,” spoken softly with the tiniest hint of a teasing fondness leaking through. “how about a nap? and then i will make you something later?” 

jacob agrees half heartedly, already drooping in the relaxation from the steamy bath. the arms are back around him, guiding him until he falls onto his dingy little mattress, making grabby hands at the other person until he too falls into bed with a soft laugh. 

“sleep, little one,” the voice whispers softly, a new song starting in the evening air. “i’ll be here when you wake up.” 


End file.
